Jolie
I cowered behind the rusted dumpster, the metal surface cold against my back as the putrid stench of decomposing food scraps and other rancid waste created a nauseating miasma that made my stomach lurch. My heart hammered against my ribs. Each thunderous beat so violent I was certain the guards would hear. Beside me, Lilibet remained motionless as a statue, though I clutched her tiny form so tightly against my chest that I could feel the subtle tremors rippling through her. The sight of fear flickering in her wide, innocent eyes sent a sharp pang through my chest.
From our hiding spot, I had a perfect view of the nice alien’s backside. And what a backside! At least seven feet tall, his powerful frame was sculpted with lean, defined muscles. He wore a uniform, like many of the males inhabiting the space station, but on him, the cut of the silver and red cloth seemed tailored to his form like a designer suit. Instead of flesh, thousands of tiny scales covered his body, each one catching the station’s artificial light to create a mesmerizing display of iridescent colors—deep cerulean that shifted to cobalt, with unexpected flashes of fuchsia and gold that seemed to dance across his form with every subtle movement.
His hair cascaded in thick, lustrous waves over his broad shoulders, so dark blue it appeared nearly black in the dim lighting. When he looked at me earlier, his eyes had beenthe most striking azure I’d ever seen. Bright as a summer sky and radiating unexpected warmth and kindness. He was undoubtedly the most handsome alien I’d ever encountered in my time among the stars, though admittedly beings resembling hairless cats and frogs made up the bulk of my previous experience.
The Wojonik were an entirely different nightmare altogether. Towering, menacing figures that seemed ripped from humanity’s darkest religious imagery, complete with wings, horns, tail, sulfurous yellow eyes, and skin the color of dried blood. Qurbaga only deployed these demonic enforcers when violence was not just expected but required... when blood needed to be spilled. The fact that they hunted for Lilibet meant someone would pay dearly for her disappearance.
Our escape seemed almost too easy. We had slipped through the corridors of the spaceship during the pre-dawn hours, avoiding every living soul except for Binwee. The small, blue guardian angel whisked us into one of the larger shipping crates with such efficiency it made me wonder if she had prior experience orchestrating clandestine escapes. It took less than an hour to make the journey from the ship to the space station’s kitchens. Binwee reappeared minutes later to liberate us from the crate. She pressed a worn canvas bag into my hands, bulging with rations, a small pouch containing enough credits to last several days, and a hastily sketched map showing the route to Space Pearls. After that, Lilibet and I sequestered ourselves in a janitor’s closet, waiting until the evening cycle began before we ventured toward our destination, hopefully looking like any other diners heading to the most popular restaurant in the cosmos.
I had foolishly assumed it would take much longer for Qurbaga to discover our absence. My thoughts turned toward Binwee. Hopefully, the little Framaddi had succeeded incovering her tracks, and her decades of loyal service to Qurbaga placed her above suspicion.
The approach of the Wojonik reverberated through the narrow alley as they drew closer, each heavy boot strike against the metal flooring sending vibrations through the ground beneath us. Their stench preceded them like a toxic cloud—a revolting cocktail of acrid sulfur and the fetid, swampy miasma of stagnant water, as if proximity to the Kwado had permanently stained their essence.
“What are you doing here, Zarpazian?” one of the Wojonik snarled, his voice a harsh rasp, dripping with menace.
Our protector’s broad shoulders lifted in a gesture of indifference. “I was having a meal at Space Pearl’s and found myself needing some fresh air. Is that a crime?” Despite the fact that each of the three Wojonik stood a full head taller, he appeared utterly unperturbed by their presence.
One of the demonic guards released a guttural grunt, suggesting that he indeed considered the desire for air to be some form of criminal transgression. However, he remained ominously silent, yellow eyes glowing like twin coals in the darkness.
“We are conducting a search for a human female and a youngling,” the lead Wojonik announced, his words carrying the weight of warning.
Another casual shrug rippled across those broad shoulders painted in a living Monet masterpiece of shifting blues and golds. “The only humans I have detected—either by sight or scent—are within the restaurant.”
Scent.
The word hit me like a slap. I carefully lifted a trembling arm to my nose and inhaled deeply. The pungent, overwhelming aroma of alho—the alien equivalent of garlic that Binwee had thoroughly rubbed into our skin and hair—suddenly madeperfect, brilliant sense. The smell was eye-watering, but it seemed to meld seamlessly with the symphony of other odors emanating from the dumpster.
“The human is incidental,” the Wojonik, who seemed to be the spokesman, huffed, his voice carrying a dismissive tone. “The youngling is our mission.”
I noticed our protector’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly at his words, the iridescent scales along his arms shifting from peaceful blues to deeper, more troubled hues. I wasn’t surprised that Qurbaga didn’t care about me. I was, after all, a replaceable commodity to him. All he truly cared about was power and the credits that flowed into his coffers.
“She is a Naniloa,” the Wojonik continued, his sulfurous eyes gleaming. “Small, with pale lavender skin and dark pink curls.”
“I thought the Naniloa were nearly extinct.” There was a profound regret threading through our protector’s voice as he spoke, as though he hated that Lilibet would have to hear such a devastating truth. If she had any reaction to his words, I couldn’t tell. Lilibet had learned the history of her people’s destruction long ago, what little of it I’d learned from her mother.
“Now you understand precisely why the prince deems her so precious,” the lead Wojonik snorted with cruel amusement, his face twisting into something resembling a smile that revealed rows of yellowed, razor-sharp teeth.
“The human, too, is important to recover,” the second largest Wojonik insisted, drawing a glare from the leader. “If only to punish her publicly for her crimes against Prince Qurbaga.”
“What exactly did she do?” Our protector shifted his stance, crossing his powerfully muscled arms over his broad chest, the movement causing his scales to ripple in mesmerizing waves of color.
“The human is a runaway slave who has stolen a very valuable commodity from the prince,” the Wojonik spat, his words dripping with contempt. I held no doubt that if this devil could get his hands on me, I wouldn’t make it back to Qurbaga alive.
“You are aware of the new Alliance laws that make it a capital crime to hold humans as slaves.” The alien’s voice dropped a full octave, not exactly threatening but carrying an unmistakable weight of warning that made the air grow heavy with tension.
The smaller of the Wojonik—who still towered over seven feet tall—snorted hatefully, his breath creating visible wisps in the cool air. “We serve Prince Qurbaga of the Kwado Empire. He operates far above such trivial, meaningless rules.”
Our protector said nothing in response but made a small, disgusted sound deep in his throat that perfectly conveyed exactly how revolting he found the Wojonik’s words.
“You will immediately contact Prince Qurbaga’s vessel if you encounter either the human or the youngling.” It wasn’t a polite request. It was an order backed with the threat of violence.
Our protector gave another indifferent shrug but remained pointedly silent in a way that spoke volumes.
The largest Wojonik tilted his head, studying our defender with glowing yellow eyes. “I understand that Zarpazians are forbidden to shift their scales under the new king’s rule.” The words were a barely veiled challenge wrapped in false interest.
“Only if we get caught.” Our protector—clearly a Zarpazian—spoke softly, his voice carrying quiet confidence. From my cramped hiding spot, I caught sight of the multicolored scales covering his left arm and shoulder suddenly flip to a glossy black. I didn’t understand the significance of the color change, but the transformation seemed to spook the Wojonik.They retreated from the alley, backing away step by careful step while never allowing the Zarpazian to leave their sight, as though they expected him to strike like a rattlesnake the moment they turned their backs.
